


Negative Space

by Teigh



Series: Expressions 'Verse [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-17
Updated: 2008-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 05:44:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teigh/pseuds/Teigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rub too hard against the paper and the sketch becomes indistinct, blends to grey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negative Space

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Blurring Lines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/350477) by [turps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps). 



> Turps wrote me a beautiful ficlet about Gerard drawing his brother into existence. I was taken with the idea of Lifedrawing!Mikey, and this is a result of that fascination. As this is a companion piece, please read her fic, Blurring Lines, first. 
> 
> Thank you Turps, for letting me play with your idea. You are perpetually inspirational and an amazing friend.

At the Paramour,  
the walls are white,

and graphite is a constant weight  
on Mikey's tongue.

He drinks,  
to strip away  
slippery grey.

The tumbler held to light –  
his fingers print the glass,  
ridged circles of lead  
reflection trapped  
like bugs in amber,  
their faint spirits thicken  
on the inhale.

It's as close to turpentine  
as he can get,  
a memento mori  
off kelter enough to settle chills  
in, waking the edges and  
outlines of his skin.

Turpentine  
memory piggybacked on scent;  
Mikey thinks of the first apartment,  
dirty nest of sheets and blankets,  
stacked plates, life encrusted.

But the art supplies  
were always tidy, clean.

 

~~~

 

The walls here are white,  
white  
Mikey's smudging against the paint.

Charcoal imprints on the baseboards,  
lined oval shadows mar  
doorknob, light switch, a smeared band  
at shoulder height where he leans  
against the fridge.

At the end of the day, his bass strings  
are caked with black.

Mikey avoids the shower.  
He doesn't want to wash himself down the drain.

Leaning close to the bathroom  
mirror, breath fogging surfaces.  
He layers on eyeliner  
trying to replace what he loses,  
what he's lost.

With his free hand he presses  
fingers to the glass.  
The glass presses back.

 

~~~

 

Mikey evades sleep.  
He won't lie down, certain  
that when attention  
wanders, when sleep blurs  
thoughts  
he will reduce down  
to carbon  
grit and dust  
mired in the sheets.

White sheets  
reflect white walls  
and he's the bug  
smudge of black, caught.

And they  
they'll wonder  
where he'd vanished to this time  
as they  
marvel at the perfect outline  
photo negative of a murder  
scene, black on white,  
wonder as  
they bundle up the cotton,  
as they carry the linens  
to the laundry.


End file.
